


Beggars Can't Be Choosers

by tj_teejay



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Angst, Daredevil Bingo, Fix-It, Gen, Hospitals, Pneumonia, Post-Season/Series 02, Reconciliation, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-19
Updated: 2016-09-19
Packaged: 2018-08-16 02:20:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8082925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tj_teejay/pseuds/tj_teejay
Summary: This is what happens when Matt has no one to ground him. Bad things go down, and Matt ends up in deep shit. It’d be nice if he had friends to pull him out, but there’s that good old Murdock pride that gets in the way. Go figure. Post season 2.





	

**Author's Note:**

> **Bingo Prompt:** Reunion  
>  **Author’s Note:** Written for [this prompt](http://daredevilkink.dreamwidth.org/7552.html?thread=14172544#cmt14172544), and very loosely based on the Born Again comics. Thanks go out to Kerry for the great input and food for thought.
> 
> +-+-+-+-+

“That’s a terrible cough,” Foggy thought as he walked along the subway tunnel, listening to the sound reverberating through the tiled tunnel on his way to work.

He gave the source a cursory glance. There were too many homeless people to count in this city, and he gave them just as little attention as most of the everyday commuters. Just another lost soul, huddled in the corner with a black hoodie drawn deeply into their bearded face. Granted, this guy looked a lot cleaner than most of them, but while he did feel pity, he wasn’t sure what exactly to do about it.

Give one of them a few bucks, sure, that would help this one person. But it wouldn’t help the thousands of others, and who knew if they weren’t gonna spend it on the next fix, or the next bottle of cheap schnapps. Plus, there were plenty of shelters around the city, weren’t there?

Once emerging into daylight, with the offices of Hogarth, Chao & Benowitz looming just to his left in the impressive, glass-walled building, he had already forgotten about one of New York’s unsolvable problems.

+-+-+-+-+

Foggy passed the man in the black hoodie every morning. It took him a week to notice that particular fact, and Foggy started to wonder if he had just always been there, or if he had newly claimed this spot for himself.

The cough wasn’t getting better, and Foggy found himself contemplating that this man should really get that looked at. Pneumonia probably wasn’t far off. No medical insurance, of course. So, yeah. With winter around the corner, and the temperatures dropping, no wonder he was seeking shelter in the subway.

Today, he was there when Foggy went home after a long day of depositions and paperwork and sifting through stacks of files, one more lifeless than the other. Earning his fair share of money was a decent reward, but some days he longed for the time when life had seemed a whole lot more exciting and unpredictable in their dinky, scuffed Nelson & Murdock offices.

But those days were over—had been for the better part of a year, with Matt God knew where, doing God knew what. He’d taught himself not to care, and eventually convinced himself of it, too. Foggy never reached out, and neither did Matt. Maybe Matt had been right after all. They were better off without each other.

Against his better judgment, Foggy slowed his pace as he approached the homeless man, his eyes briefly grazing an all too familiar sight. A folded up blind cane. Wow. Being homeless _and_ blind… That couldn’t be easy. He briefly wondered what Matt was doing right now. He decided to google him later, see if he still kept the law office running.

He’d done that a few months earlier, and had been relieved to see that Matt seemed to be holding his own. He’d never investigated beyond that. The few times he had spoken to Karen in the last half year, she let on that she seemed to keep in touch with Matt occasionally, but he had the feeling it was fizzling out over time. Matt’s classic MO of pushing people out of his life. Maybe Daredevil was getting busier. Foggy drew in a breath and kept walking. There were more important things in his life now than Matt Murdock.

+-+-+-+-+

It was three days later that Foggy got mildly worried. Hoodie Man wasn’t just cowered in his corner in the morning, he was lying on his side, huddled into himself with his back to the world. Foggy’s brow creased, but not enough to really do anything about it.

Still, he kept thinking back to the homeless man in the tunnel once or twice that day, silently cursing himself for actually caring about a random stranger. He decided right then that he would check on the man on his way home, no matter what.

When Foggy got there, it looked like he hadn’t moved all day. Shit, Foggy thought. What if he was dead? Vaguely aware that people were starting to look at him, he suddenly felt self-conscious. What if he left right now? This man wasn’t really his problem now, was he?

He was about to turn on his heels and go, when he heard the faint wheezing, and what maybe was an aborted attempt at a cough. Foggy bent down and touched the man’s shoulder.

“Hey, are you okay?”

That was a stupid question now, wasn’t it? There was no reply. Foggy wasn’t sure what to do. He tentatively touched the man’s shoulder and tugged at it. “Hey man, are you all right?”

He was fully prepared to be turning over a corpse, or a person on the verge of death. The Hoodie Man at least stirred, but didn’t protest when Foggy turned him around.

“Hey, sorry if I—” Foggy started, then stopped abruptly.

No. This— what? No, that couldn’t be… His throat was dry, his voice barely above a croak. “Matt?”

A deep, terrible cough was his answer, the kind that shook your whole body and took away your breath. Foggy crouched down, staring and staring. Yes, behind the beard and the somewhat shaggy brown hair, this was unmistakably Matt Murdock.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, feeling completely out of his depth. How? How was Matt Murdock huddling homeless in a subway tunnel with the worst case of bronchitis that Foggy had ever heard?

When Matt had sucked in enough air to breathe again, he asked in a weak voice. “Foggy?”

“Yeah. Geez. What the hell, Matt?”

Matt pulled away, his voice low and ashamed. “Leave me alone.”

“Are you serious? There is no way in hell I am going to leave you here like this.”

“You don’t—” Matt started again, but whatever he was about to say was interrupted by another cough. Foggy felt even more helpless. This man, the person who had once been his best friend, could barely string together a whole sentence without ringing for breath. He was also running a fever, by the looks of it. The flush on his cheeks and heat radiating off of his body were telltale enough.

Foggy fished his phone out of his pocket. “I’m calling an ambulance.”

“No!” Matt said quickly.

“Yes. You’re… Jesus. You’ve been lying here for days. You need fluids and antibiotics and a warm place to stay.”

He was already dialing 911, and there wasn’t a damn thing Matt could do about it, although of course he did try.

While they waited, Matt was the picture of misery—his knees drawn to his chest, his forehead resting on them, his body shivering periodically.

Foggy stood nearby at a safe distance, his mind reeling. He couldn’t think of a damn thing to say, because all the words running through his mind were either loaded questions or uncalled for accusations.

It felt like half an eternity until the paramedics arrived. Matt endured their ministrations with the grace of a kicked puppy. They asked Foggy all kinds of questions that he didn’t have any answers for. When they inquired whether Foggy knew Matt, he simply said, “Yes.” And then as an afterthought, because he wasn’t sure the paramedics had noticed yet. “He’s blind.”

Matt was putting up a brave front when they maneuvered him onto the stretcher, but Foggy could see that he was barely able to stand on his own. Foggy had done a good thing, possibly even saved a life. He felt no pride at all.

“Where are you taking him?” he asked the paramedics.

“Mount Sinai.”

He contemplated asking if he could ride with them, but… no. Too much too soon. He barely knew anymore who the person was they were wheeling out of the subway tunnel. The thought of being squeezed into a tiny space with strangers all around them—he couldn’t bring himself to go there.

He watched them take Matt away, leaving a shocked and bewildered Foggy behind. He stood for a good ten seconds, staring at the camping mat on the ground and the few meager belongings next to it.

Foggy knelt down and picked them up, trying to decide what to do. Go to the hospital? Go home? Call someone? Karen? Shit. This was… this was messed up. In all the things he may have expected to happen to Matt, it certainly wasn’t homelessness and near death from a chest infection.

He needed time to think. A game plan. Or at least some kind of plan. The subway ride home was one of the strangest in his life.

+-+-+-+-+

Foggy was all nerves and jitters when he entered Mount Sinai the next day, a duffel bag in his hand. The man at the main reception desk told him where he could find Matt, and so he ended up standing in front of a nondescript white door that had the number 586 next to it.

Should he go in? What was he even doing here? He and Matt, they hadn’t spoken in months. Close to a year now, probably. He could just drop Matt’s belongings off with the nurse and be done with it. No harm, no foul.

A nurse stopped next to him. “Can I help you?”

“Oh, I, uh… No, I’m good, thank you.”

She smiled benevolently, and Foggy realized that Matt probably already knew he was here, supersenses and everything. Unless he was zonked out on meds and sedatives. Which was entirely possible. Foggy had no idea what shape Matt would be in, or if he was even responsive.

He drew in a deep breath, knocked briefly, and then entered. There were two beds in the room, Matt was in the one nearer the window, the other was empty. There were machines and IVs, but nothing overly dramatic. Matt was lying with his eyes closed and didn’t stir when Foggy entered the room.

He put the duffel on the floor by the wall and stood by the foot end of the bed for a long moment. Matt looked almost peaceful. The ECG monitor beeping softly and regularly, something dripping into a small plastic tube affixed to his IV, a cannula in his nose delivering oxygen. Matt’s eyes were closed and his ribcage rose and fell with shallow breaths that seemed just a little too fast.

Foggy’s eyes wandered from Matt’s pallid face to his left hand where a plastic clip on his finger was measuring something. When his gaze fell back onto Matt’s face, he was back to wondering who this man really was.

Was he still his friend—the hard-working, justice-seeking lawyer? Or was this a person taken over by his vigilante persona, by revenge and violence and eventual depression? What had driven him into a life without a home to seek shelter in, without a steady income? The person beneath the unkempt hair and scraggly beard with the still familiar features, who was he really?

Foggy sighed and walked over to the chair that stood against the wall by a small table there. Despite everything, his curiosity was definitely piqued. He wanted to know what happened to Matt Murdock. And the only person who would be able to give him that answer was Matt himself. So he would wait.

It took over half an hour for Matt to stir. Foggy caught the movement out of the corner of his eyes while he was checking his smartphone for the latest work e-mails. Nothing spectacularly important, but he liked keeping up to date. He hadn’t called Karen yet. He wasn’t even sure why.

A groggy voice said his name, and there may have been a time when it would have stabbed Foggy right in the stomach to see Matt as weak as this. But those times had come and gone.

“Foggy?” Matt repeated again.

He harrumphed, trying to keep his voice carefully neutral. “Yeah. Right here.”

Matt coughed again, but it didn’t sound quite as terrible as the day before. “Why are you here?”

“Because I may be a dick, but at least I’m not a total asshole.” He had meant for it to sound jovial, but he suspected it came out a lot more flat than he intended.

Matt’s face twitched with something, but Foggy wasn’t sure what. Indignation? “You didn’t have to come.”

“Yeah, I know. I brought your things, they’re here in a duffel bag on the floor. Do you want me to go?”

Matt’s answer took a while to form, his voice small and almost timid. “Do you _want_ to go?”

“I, uh… I have questions.”

Matt coughed again before he told Foggy, “You don’t need my permission to ask them.”

“No, but… Maybe now is not the best time. You need to rest. I’ll come back. If that’s okay.”

Matt nodded, and Foggy turned to go. But before he could leave, he heard Matt’s low, “Thank you.”

For a split second he pondered ignoring it, but then turned around. “For what?”

“For helping me. Did you know?”

“Know what?”

“That it was me?”

Foggy’s brow creased. “You don’t remember?”

“No.”

“I didn’t know. Not until I checked on you yesterday.”

Matt just nodded, and Foggy decided to leave it at that for the moment.

+-+-+-+-+

The one thought that stayed persistently on Foggy’s mind on the way home was _What The Fuck_? Matt a homeless vagrant? It just wouldn’t compute. What in holy hell had gone down for that to happen? What about that great apartment of his? What about the law firm? What about his nightly activities?

Come to think of it, Foggy wondered where the suit was, because it hadn’t been with Matt’s belongings.

When he got home, he got out his phone and called Karen. She answered on the fourth ring.

“Hey Foggy.”

“Hey. How’s it going?”

“You know…. it’s going. The usual. What’s up?”

“I, uh… Have you heard from Matt lately?”

“Matt? No. Why?”

Foggy sighed. “Yeah, well. There’s been a, I guess you could say ‘development’.”

“Development? What do you mean?”

“So you didn’t know he was homeless?”

“Homeless? What? No. What are you even talking about?” She sounded shocked.

So Foggy told her the subway story. It stunned Karen into silence until she finally said, “Wow. That’s… I don’t even know what to say.”

“Yeah. Welcome to my world. When was the last time you spoke to him?”

She hummed, then said, “I don’t know. Months ago. He was… I don’t know. We didn’t see each other that often anymore. He withdrew more and more. In the end, it was like we didn’t have anything to say to each other anymore. I got the feeling he wasn’t really interested in keeping up a friendship, so it just kinda… fizzled.”

Foggy could certainly understand that. Matt’s usual MO when he didn’t have anyone pushing their way through all his bullshit. Karen added, “Foggy, should I… Oh God. I could have—”

He interrupted her. “No, don’t put this on you, okay? It’s just Matt. That’s what he does. It… I just never thought it would get this bad.”

“Is he gonna be okay?”

He didn’t know how to answer that question. “You mean health-wise?”

“Yeah. No. Uhm…”

“Look, I don’t know, Karen. I haven’t even really talked to him. The bronchitis, or pneumonia, or whatever infection he has, yeah, he’ll get over that. The rest… your guess is as good as mine.”

“Are you gonna see him again?”

“I don’t know. Yeah. Probably.”

“Can I come with you?”

“Sure. If you want.”

She hesitated. “Do you think he’ll want me there?”

“Why wouldn’t he? It’s not like you parted on bad terms, right?”

“No. I just figured… maybe he expected I’d be in touch. Or help. Or… I don’t know.”

“I’m sure he’ll appreciate a friendly face. He… he hates hospitals, you know? His senses. It messes him up pretty bad.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Yeah, okay.”

+-+-+-+-+

They met after work in the hospital lobby. As they made their way to the elevators, Karen asked him, “How bad a shape is he in?”

Foggy shrugged. “You know, IV, ECG machine, nasal oxygen cannula. Not sure if it’s actually pneumonia. He might be pretty loopy, depending on what drugs they’re giving him. Don’t expect too much.”

Foggy wasn’t even sure where all that information came from. It wasn’t like he’d paid close attention. Too much exposure to the man, probably. Also, they’d been through this once before. Matt had a bad case of stomach flu in college that he’d tried to hide. Foggy had taken him to the ER despite Matt’s protests when he couldn’t keep anything down for two days. They’d kept Matt overnight, and Matt had hated every moment of it. It only occurred to Foggy now why it must have been so much worse than Foggy had figured at the time.

Karen gave the gift shop a cursory glance, then she stopped. “We should have gotten him something.”

“Like what?”

“I got him a balloon once. It, uh, I’m not sure if it was a little awkward.”

“I’m gonna friend-divorce you if you buy a plush animal right now.”

Karen grinned. “I vaguely remember Marci got you a Foggy-Bear once when you were in the hospital.”

“Yeah, that’s different.”

She grinned. “Is it now?”

“Come on. If this goes well, you can buy him a fruit basket or something tomorrow. I think we’ll be good for now.”

Matt was awake when they entered his room this time, the other bed was still unoccupied. Matt wasn’t any less gaunt and pale, the IV and machines still in place. Karen looked about as apprehensive as Matt did, and Foggy couldn’t help but notice the slight flinch on Matt’s part as he shifted slightly in his bed.

“Foggy?” he said carefully. “There’s… is there someone else?”

Foggy frowned. Normally, Matt would have recognized Karen from miles away. They must have put him on some pretty potent drugs.

“Yeah,” Foggy said. “It’s Karen.”

Matt seemed to blanch at that, undoubtedly both ashamed and embarrassed to being exposed to people he knew in the state he was in.

“Hey, Matt,” Karen said hesitantly.

“Hey,” he greeted back just a little too shyly.

Karen picked up on it immediately. “I, uh… I can go if you don’t want me to stay.”

“No,” he said immediately. “No, it’s fine.”

Foggy hovered cautiously near the end of Matt’s bed. “How are you?”

Matt shrugged and stayed silent.

Foggy gave him a quick nod. “Okay. Pretty miserable, then. I mean, Matt, what the hell?”

That had the desired effect, because Matt looked like a wet puppy that had been kicked right in the face. Foggy regretted it straight away. _Damn you, Nelson. Not what Matt needs right now._

“Sorry,” he amended. “That sounded less judgmental in my head. But I think you owe us an explanation.”

Matt was fiddling with the hem of the hospital blanket. “I know.”

“So?” Foggy pressed on.

Karen interrupted with a soft, “Foggy…”

He took a deep breath. “Yeah, okay. Maybe we should sit down for this.”

The two visitor chairs scraped across the floor as Foggy and Karen drew them closer to the bed but not too close. Matt looked as uncomfortable as could be, even though either he himself or one of the nurses had taken a stab at trimming his beard to something a little less hermit and more urban citizen.

Not surprisingly, silence ensued—thick and awkward and forbidding. It was Karen who broke it first. “Can you tell us what happened, Matt?”

He harrumphed quietly, which sent him into a harsh, unforgiving coughing fit. Foggy tried hard not to flinch. If Karen was doing the same, she wasn’t succeeding. Foggy could see the concern written clearly on her face.

Matt clumsily fumbled for the glass with water on the nightstand, gulping down three sips. He lowered his head before he spoke in a low voice, “I’m not sure where it all went wrong. But, uhm… in the end it was— It was Fisk.”

“As in _Wilson_ Fisk?” Foggy asked, surprised.

“He’s trying to destroy me.”

Foggy huffed. “Yeah, almost damn near succeeded.”

“He froze my accounts, made sure I lost the law firm. My reputation. Then my home.”

“Jesus,” Karen muttered.

Foggy thought the same, wondering at the same time how he hadn’t heard about this through the grapevine. After the Fisk and the Castle case, he and Matt had evolved from little-known corner practice to respectable defense attorneys. It seemed odd that no one in their circle would have picked that up, but Foggy also knew that Matt was pretty good at keeping a low profile if he wanted.

Foggy swallowed. “I’m not supposed to ask how or why, am I?”

Matt shrugged. “Do you even have to ask why?”

“Let me guess. Retribution.”

“Yeah,” Matt said just above a whisper.

“Why didn’t he come after me, then? I put him away just as much as you, Matt.”

Matt shrugged again. “Because you aren’t Daredevil?”

“Wait,” Karen said. “How does Fisk know you’re Daredevil?”

“I don’t know.”

Foggy pursed his lips. “So what happened to your apartment?”

“I, uh… I couldn’t afford it anymore.”

“Why didn’t you call? You could have crashed at my place. I would have helped.”

Matt stayed silent, all the suffering and guilt and indignity coalescing into an expression that looked ready to shatter his soul into a million pieces.

Karen’s brow furrowed. Her voice was soft. “I’m sorry you had to go through that alone, Matt. I wish you would have called one of us. We’re still your friends.”

Emotions splintered across Matt’s face and he drew his chin even closer to his chest. His fingers danced nervously along the edge of the blanket again as if in search for imperfections. He closed his eyes, drawing in a shaky breath.

His voice was a whisper of a confession. “I didn’t… I didn’t want to burden you with this. And I couldn’t… I couldn’t—” He fell silent.

“You couldn’t what?” Karen asked.

“I couldn’t put you in danger. Fisk was after me.”

“ _Was_ after you?” Foggy asked. “Or _is_?”

Matt shook his head ever so slightly. “It’s been dealt with.”

“How?”

Matt stayed silent for a moment, then said in a low voice, “The less you know, the better.”

Foggy’s mouth pressed into a thin line before he said, “Yeah. So we’re back to that again.”

“I’m sorry, Foggy.”

Foggy’s voice was harsher than he intended. “Save it. This,” he pointed in the direction of Matt, “this is exactly why things went sideways all those months ago, and I’m really glad to see that you haven’t changed at all.”

The tone of Matt’s voice sounded neutral enough. “Maybe you should leave.”

Foggy got up. “Yeah, maybe I should.”

Karen’s eyes were shooting scorching daggers right into his face, but Foggy ignored it. “Bye, Matt. Have a nice life—short as it may be.”

He had barely made it five steps out of Matt’s hospital room when Karen called after him. “Foggy.”

He kept walking, but then she was there next to him, grabbing his arm with more force than he had expected. “Foggy, hold on just a minute.”

“Why?” he shot at her, pausing in the hallway. “God, I’m so sick of Matt’s bullshit. I can’t— I just can’t do it again, okay?”

“Foggy, he’s practically homeless. Sick. He almost died. And you’re gonna walk away from that?”

He just shrugged.

Karen shook her head. “Jesus. You really don’t care anymore, do you?”

That, he mused, wasn’t actually true. He was telling himself he shouldn’t care. That it was better for him if he didn’t care. Did that actually mean he stopped caring? No—if he truly admitted it—not by a long shot.

He wiggled out of her grip. “Don’t you understand my side in this? He practically destroyed our law firm—the one that _he_ had insisted we open. The one he kept insisting was worth keeping up even when we were super broke. And then Elektra comes swooping in, and he’s all, ‘Okay, fuck being a lawyer and Foggy Nelson’s partner.’

“She… she has some kind of hold on him that I wish I could figure out. What’s worse, she has a spectacular ability to make him self-destruct despite everyone’s best efforts to keep him from doing exactly that. And then it happened anyway, because there he is, telling me to my face that it would be better for the both of us if we quit being friends. All the while he’s skip-jumping across rooftops, putting the life of the next innocent person over his own—time and again.

“And because I can’t fucking help it, I’m worried sick that he’s lying in an alley somewhere, bleeding out, alone and helpless and stubborn as all hell, cause—nuh-uh. Matt Murdock would never call an ambulance if his life depended on it.”

He drew in a breath, and before Karen could say anything, he continued, “Did he tell you I found him with a concussion on a rooftop that time when Grotto turned on us? Shaking and concussed and barely conscious. God, he is such a pigheaded asshole. But, see, the thing is, I’m not an idiot, Karen. He’s never gonna stop doing what he does. I had to learn that the hard way.

“Maybe I thought I could be okay with it. Turns out I was just deluding myself. Cause I can’t. And you know why that is?” He turned to look her right in the eyes. “It’s because I care. Too much.”

She stayed silent, and Foggy raised his arms in defeat. “So I guess we’re kind of at an impasse. One that’s crumbling away beneath our feet, with a gap a mile wide between us. So what do you want me to do, huh?”

“You’re just gonna throw it all away? He needs you, Foggy.”

“Bullshit. Matt Murdock doesn’t need anyone. He’ll even tell you that himself.”

“And you know it’s not true.”

Foggy’s shoulders sagged. “Maybe not. But I’m done. I’m done helping when it’s convenient for him, and not getting anything in return when I need him to do the same for me.”

Karen lowered her voice. “You know that he’s probably listening to all of this, right?”

Foggy nodded curtly. “Yeah, I hope he does.” He raised his voice. “You hear that, Murdock? I’m done.”

Karen shook her head, the disdain clearly readable on her face. “When did you turn into a total asshole, Foggy?”

He thought about giving her a response, but he came up empty, so he said nothing and just walked away without looking back.

+-+-+-+-+

As much as Foggy hated to admit it, all the way back home, Karen’s remark reverberated, loud and clear. Was there actual truth in her question? Had his new job and relative financial comfort really turned him into an asshole?

He would like to say the answer was no. It wasn’t so much about Foggy’s behavior as such. If anything, it was about his history with Matt. All the years of fun and friendship, and then the sordid and rather harsh ending of all of that.

Granted, Matt had already come with a whole lot of baggage. Blinded at nine, orphaned at ten, youth spent in a Catholic orphanage, with all his values and education coming from a blind ninja master and, from the sounds of it, total douchebag. Foggy had never met him, but he knew he would want to clock the guy right in the noggin if he ever did.

Matt had already been damaged goods when they met in college. But his charm and soft smile had made up for all the angst, and before the both of them knew it, the best friend bond had formed.

But now... Now the bond had been torn and was fraying at the edges. Flapping in the wind like a long-abandoned flag in a hurricane, lashing from side to side in unbridled abandon.

Back in his apartment, he toed off his shoes, threw his jacket over the armchair in the living room, and made a beeline for the fridge. He was rewarded with a cold beer with which he plopped onto the couch, reaching for the remote control.

The TV came on, right in the middle of an old _Futurama_ rerun. It turned out to be a marathon. Foggy welcomed the distraction, glad that he didn’t have to think about Matt Murdock again for the next several hours.

+-+-+-+-+

A week passed, and Matt was eventually discharged from the hospital. Karen had already offered for Matt to stay with her until he found a new place to live. Foggy was infinitely glad that it meant he didn’t have to.

The good soul that she was, Karen had somehow taken over caring-for-Matt duty—silently and without further guilt-trips. Foggy knew Matt was in good hands, and so he slowly gravitated away into the new life he had become accustomed to by now.

The caseload was heavy, the work always a distraction. His boss was demanding but fair. There wasn’t much room for leisure time, and Foggy didn’t mind all that much. Sure, he missed the nights out with Karen, the casual, borderline seedy nights at Josie’s. But not enough to make an effort to do anything about it.

It was four weeks later that Karen gave him a call, greeting him, “Hey.”

“Hey. What’s up?”

“I, uh... How is it going?”

“Come on, Karen, I’m smart enough to realize this isn’t a social call.”

She was silent at the other end long enough for Foggy to ask, “Is this about Matt? Is he in trouble again?”

“No,” she quickly said. “No, he, uh... Look, forget I called, okay?”

Foggy sighed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make this awkward. Why did you call?”

“We found Matt a new place. He’s gonna move in next weekend. And, uhm... well...”

“You want me to help.”

She sighed. “Yeah.”

“With what? Money?”

“What? No. Just... you know... carrying stuff. It’s on the fourth floor.”

“Roof access?” Foggy couldn’t help but ask.

“What?” Karen sounded puzzled.

“Never mind.”

“So you’ll help?”

“Yeah,” Foggy agreed all too easily. He never could say no to Karen Page. “How is he?”

“Do you wanna talk to him?”

Shit. Of course he’d be with her. Probably listening to every word they were saying. “No,” he said quickly. Not opening that can of worms if he could avoid it.

Karen didn’t question his response. “He’s doing okay. All healed up. Holding down a temp job, getting back on his feet. It’s going well.”

Heh. Look at that. Saint Page had done it again. “I’m glad,” was all he could think to respond. “I’ll be there. Saturday, right? Where’s it at?”

“Hell’s Kitchen, not far from his previous apartment.”

“Okay. Text me the details. I gotta go, okay?” A half-lie.

“Sure. See you there.”

+-+-+-+-+

Foggy wasn’t sure what to expect the coming weekend when he went to the address Karen had texted him. If he admitted it, he’d thought a little more “dump” and a little less “actually nice place” than what presented itself on the fourth floor of the five story building right in the heart of the Kitchen.

Granted, it was nowhere near as charming as Matt’s previous apartment. Everything was sparse, and it lacked the shabby-chic grandeur of 6A. The ramshackle assortment of furniture they carried upstairs was clearly second hand—scuffed, definitely used, borderline fugly (not that Matt would care). Foggy didn’t even want to know where it had come from.

There even was a sofa. Light brown leather, clearly wearing the tokens of generations on its veneer. But with Matt’s senses, Foggy was reasonably sure it had been inspected for its hygienic adequacy.

Matt was taciturn with Foggy, more verbose with Karen. Things were light on the surface and more volatile underneath. Yet, there were jokes and easy laughter, and when Foggy watched closely enough, maybe even a few inklings of happiness. And that filled Foggy’s heart with hope, loathe as he was to admit it.

They were done in under two hours, seeing how Matt didn’t have many belongings to begin with. His life fit into sixteen boxes in total. Foggy had had over fifty when he moved. He wondered if the suit was in one of them but didn’t ask.

“Beer?” Matt inquired, pointing to the small kitchen corner behind them that housed the fridge.

Karen looked at her watch. “I have this thing, remember? I better get home to get changed, but I’ll be back later to help you unpack. Promise.”

Matt gave her a quick nod. “It’s fine, Karen. You don’t have to—”

“Nonsense. It shouldn’t take more two hours. Three tops. See you then.”

He stepped closer to her and planted a quick kiss on her cheek, which Foggy watched with rapt curiosity. Were they getting back together? Were they _already_ back together? Or just a farewell among friends? It was hard to tell.

Matt turned to Foggy. “Do you want a beer?” Another try.

No, Foggy didn’t want a beer. Not here, with Matt, anyway. “I, uh,” he said none too gracefully, and couldn’t even finish because Matt all but urged him, “Can you stay? Please?”

“Why? Do you still need help with something?”

Matt frowned briefly. “No. No, it’s not about that.”

“Then what? The twelve step program for vigilantes? Trying to make amends, or something.”

Matt looked wounded. Sad. Defeated. Enough for Foggy to feel regret. He sighed. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for. But I don’t know, Matt. I don’t know if I wanna stay.”

Matt nodded, trying hard not to look disappointed. Foggy could still tell.

“It’s okay, Foggy. I get it.”

“I don’t think that you do.” He grabbed the sweater he’d discarded on one of the boxes, and his coat that he’d draped over another, feeling the chill, now that he wasn’t trudging up and down stairs anymore.

“Thank you,” Matt told him, trailing him to the door at a safe distance. “Really. You didn’t have to do this.”

“It’s fine. I’m glad I could help.”

As he touched the worn doorknob, he wondered if Karen’s rather sudden exit had actually been some kind of ploy to get the two of them to talk. It would make sense, in a sly Karen Page sort of way. He felt a brief surge of anger flash inside of him. Fucking Karen.

“Bye, M—”

“I miss you.”

Wait. What? Had he just heard that? He turned around, and there was Matt Murdock, his expression tender and honest, trying his hardest to direct his eyes at Foggy’s and still failing. “What?” Foggy could only ask, dumbfounded.

Matt took a step back. “Sorry,” he mumbled, “I didn’t—”

“Yeah,” Foggy interrupted him. He wanted to ignore it. He wasn’t sure that he could. He gripped the doorknob harder, then made a decision and turned it. He’d been down this road. It only led to mayhem and disappointment.

“See you around,” he said before he closed the door behind him, not giving Matt another chance to respond.

He was halfway down the staircase before it truly registered. That—wow. That had been a big thing up there. Because Matt Murdock didn’t ask for help. Matt Murdock didn’t wear his feelings on his sleeve. That must have cost him a great deal to openly admit.

Jesus Christ, Karen had been right. Foggy was a total asshole. The realization hit him like a sledgehammer. He stopped, wavered, then turned back around, gripping the banister. Was Matt listening to him? If he walked away now, him and Matt, they would be truly over and done with. Wiping the slate clean of Nelson & Murdock and whatever partner- and friendship they might have had. Was he really ready to throw it all away?

The answer was there before he even searched for it. His feet were already climbing back up the stairs.

He only had to rap on the door twice before it opened. Matt’s face was inscrutable. Foggy carefully asked, “The offer for that beer still stand?”

There was the slightest hint of a smile on Matt’s lips. “Yeah.”

The couch was comfortable enough, the beer bottle cool and damp in Foggy’s hand. For lack of seating accommodation, Matt sat down next to him at as safe a distance as the two-seater would allow. Not surprisingly, awkward silence ensued.

Foggy stole a glance at Matt. Having donned his glasses now, he was harder to read, but if anything, his expression hovered somewhere between stoic and apprehensive. Foggy couldn’t blame him. He had lost weight, and it still showed, although he had a feeling Karen had made sure Matt was eating regular meals when they were rooming together.

“So,” Foggy said, “this is _‘The Talk’_ , right?” He put it in air quotes, hoping that Matt would sense it. He probably did.

“Don’t you think we should talk about it?”

“I thought we already did.”

Matt frowned. “You mean all those months ago?”

“What? No. Didn’t you listen to me and Karen at the hospital?”

The frown deepened. “At the hospital?”

“Yeah, in the hallway.”

“Hallway? I’m sorry, Foggy, things from those first few days are a bit hazy.”

Okay. So Matt _hadn’t_ listened to what he’d said to Karen at the time. Maybe that was a good thing, though he kinda wished he didn’t have to rehash it all. He sighed. “Never mind.”

“What is it that you said to me?”

“Oh, I didn’t say it to you. It was… it wasn’t very nice.”

“You were upset?”

“ _Upset?_ ” Foggy repeated. “Upset doesn’t quite begin to cover it. It just... Why, Matt? Why did you think you could do it all alone?”

“How else did you expect me to do it? You haven’t been there, not for months, which made it clear to me that you had zero interest in reconciliation. So should I just have come to you out of the blue, ‘Foggy, can you help me, Fisk is back and hell-bent on destroying me and the life I have built?!’”

“Yes.”

That stunned Matt into silence, his jaw working before he said, “Are you serious?”

“Yes, I’m super fucking serious. Maybe we haven’t really been in friends-territory of late, but this—Fisk methodically threatening your very existence… Yes, I would absolutely have hoped you’d come to me despite everything.”

Matt’s voice became quieter. “But you understand why I couldn’t, right?”

“Yeah. Your usual Catholic guilt bullshit. The _‘I don’t want you to get hurt’_ spiel. It never gets old.”

“Please don’t.”

“How can I not? You keep making these decisions _for_ us. Why can’t you let _me_ decide whether I think the danger might be worth it? Isolating yourself like this, it gets you killed. Almost fucking did, this time.

“Seriously, if you keep going like this, one day soon, it will. And then what, Matt? Do you think I wouldn’t care? Do you think I wouldn’t mourn your loss? Cause if you do, you couldn’t be more wrong.”

Shit, Foggy was tearing up. He hated it. They should be past all the emotional crap, they’d already had this argument a long time ago.

Matt shook his head. “Foggy, it wasn’t like that.”

Foggy let out a sarcastic huff that sounded just a little too wet. “Oh no? Then what was it like, Matt?”

Matt’s voice was taking on a desperate edge. “I had to stay away to keep you out of Fisk’s crosshairs. It was the only way to keep you _safe_.”

Foggy’s voice got angrier. “Bullshit. When will it get into your head that keeping us uninformed is _not_ the same as keeping us safe? I don’t get why you can’t seem to understand that to help the people you care about, you need to _trust_ them.

“Because that’s what friends do, Matt. They trust each other, no matter what. But maybe that’s the crux of the matter right here. Maybe it was always just me. Maybe I was just a phase in your life that was nice while it lasted.”

Matt’s face did that thing where it twitched with barely hidden emotion. His voice was barely above a whisper. “You know that’s not true.”

“Do I?”

“Foggy, I’m sor—”

“Don’t you dare apologize,” Foggy interrupted angrily.

“What. What do you want me to do?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t know anything anymore with you.”

They both stayed silent for a long, few seconds before Foggy surprised himself by saying, “I worry about you. All the time. Even when you’re not in my life. I know it’s silly, but I’ve started avoiding the newspapers, because every fucking day, I worry about reading that something got you killed. Got _Daredevil_ killed. I don’t know how to switch that off, and by God, I wish I did. Because it would make my life so much easier.”

It was already more than he wanted to ever share with Matt, especially now, but he couldn’t stop himself. “And then Daredevil kinda vanished off the face of the earth. Or at least from the media. And, man, it should have made me feel relief, cause maybe it meant you stopped putting on that suit.

“But you know what? It didn’t. It only made me worry more, because, fuck, Matt, I _know_ that you’re not just gonna stop. So then I started worrying even more, until I told myself that it was foolish and I should get over myself, cause neither Matt Murdock _nor_ Daredevil gives a shit about me or our friendship. _Ex_ -friendship.

“It kinda became like a mantra, and maybe I started believing it, too. Believed that I was better off without you because you became the human wrecking ball you made yourself out to be. Until…”

Foggy didn’t dare look at Matt’s face. Maybe because he knew he’d see raw emotion there, because he knew that deep down, Matt Murdock wasn’t that cold-hearted, uncaring vigilante—that Matt Murdock was still that fragile, wounded soul whose concrete veneer was now crumbling under Foggy close scrutiny.

Matt’s voice was barely a choked whisper. “Until what?”

“Until I stumbled across a homeless dude in the subway, whom I might have saved from almost certain death, and who then turned out to be my ex-best friend.”

“You _did_ save him,” Matt said in a low voice.

“Yeah.” There was a certain resignation to his tone.

“More than you know.”

He looked at Matt that time, and there was the tortured soul right there, in every one of his worry lines and his clenched jaw. Still, part of Foggy refused to give in and just call it even. He wasn’t even sure anymore if anything remotely ‘even’ was on the agenda between the two of them.

“So now what?” Foggy asked. “Where does this leave us?”

Matt’s face briefly twitched before he adjusted himself to a carefully neutral expression. “I don’t know.”

“Is there even an ‘us’ anymore?”

“Do you want it to be?”

“Do _you_?”

“Foggy, I’ve always wanted that.”

“Oh yeah? It didn’t always seem that way.” Fuck, he couldn’t stop the sarcasm.

“I know.” A sigh tumbled from Matt’s lips. “I’d like to say that maybe we can give it another shot, move on. But _can_ we, Foggy? I mean, _really_ move on. We tried once before, and you know how that ended.”

“Yes, I do. And let me remind you that it tanked largely because you went and fucked it up by attaching yourself to your toxic girlfriend’s hip and then got smacked down hard. Again.”

A brief flicker of pain flitted across Matt’s face, and Foggy wasn’t quite sure why. Maybe it was Elektra. She’d always been Matt’s weak spot. He didn’t think she was around anymore. Probably left again to let others pick up the pieces.

“You’re still angry about that,” Matt said.

“Damn right I’m still angry. You left me high and dry. Karen, too. The Castle case crashed hard, and maybe it wouldn’t have if you’d just had your head in the game. Or had your head in the _right_ game.”

“I _had_ my head in the right game. It just wasn’t the same as yours.”

Foggy sighed a weary sigh. “Yeah, the ninjas taking over New York’s underworld, or whatever.”

Matt pointed a finger at Foggy. “See, Foggy, that’s the thing right there. This is why the moving-on concept is doomed from the start with us. You ridiculing this, that doesn’t help. And I’m sorry that you can’t see how important it was to me.”

“Was? Or is?”

Matt shrugged. “Probably is. Because I’m entangled in this and will keep being so, no matter how much you resent me for it. I know you keep wishing I’d snuff out that part of myself, or miraculously grow out of it, but, see, that’s not gonna happen. So I think the bigger question we need to ask is, can you live with that? Really live with it.”

Foggy didn’t know how to answer that question, except honestly. “I don’t know, Matt.”

“Let me ask you this. Have you ever, just for a second, put yourself in my shoes?”

Foggy wanted to ask how he possibly could when Matt was withholding all the important shit from him, but Matt already continued. “I get it, because I know I messed up. With you, with Karen, with the Castle case. And I know it was important to you. But what happened with The Hand, that was important to _me_. And not just to me.

“You couldn’t really see it, because it’s not something people realize before it’s too late, but they would have taken over New York, one city block at a time. Like Fisk. These people, they don’t go and blow up buildings. They sneak in and corrupt the system from the inside.

“Was it more important than keeping Frank Castle out of jail? More important than you and Karen? You won’t like hearing it, but, yes, to me it was. Because I knew you could handle the court case. You’re a terrific lawyer. You had Karen’s help. You had it covered.”

“Except we didn’t.”

“Who’s to say my being more involved would’ve had a different result?”

“I needed your _help_ , Matt.”

He looked pained. “I know. And I’m sorry I couldn’t be there for you.”

A short silence ensued, and Foggy asked, “Where’s the ‘but’?”

“No ‘but’. I truly am sorry. I made a choice, and I still think it was the right one. I hate that it had to affect us the way it did, and that’s what I wish could have been different.”

“It was _you_ who pushed me away. You who told me to get the hell out because I was better off without you. You didn’t really mean that, did you?”

Matt shrugged. “I don’t know. Part of me did.” His lips quirked into a small smile. “Human wrecking ball, remember?”

“What I still don’t understand, Matt, is why. Why do you have to keep pushing people away? I mean, yeah, you don’t want us to get hurt. But if you end up paying for that with your life, that can’t be the way, either. Sometimes shit happens, and people suffer for it. But have you ever considered that maybe it’ll be easier if you let people in?”

He hesitated a long moment before he said, “Yeah.”

“That’s all you’re gonna say?”

“I have let people in, and they got hurt. Got killed, even. If that’s not a lesson I should have learned by now, I don’t know what is.”

“Who got killed?”

Matt stayed quiet, but Foggy kept poking. “Who, Matt? Your father?”

Matt’s voice was barely audible when he said her name. “Elektra.”

“Wait. Elektra is dead? When did _that_ happen?”

“The fight on the roof. The one you and Karen witnessed from down in the street.”

“That was months ago. That’s… Geez.” Foggy swallowed. He hadn’t expected this, and it took him a few seconds to realize that maybe her death had played a role in all of Matt’s recent behavior. He swallowed down all the resentment he may have had for her, and said honestly, “I know she meant a lot to you. I’m sorry, Matt.”

Matt just lowered his head, his fingers idly playing with a crease in his hoodie while he nodded slowly.

He looked so sad and forlorn that Foggy had to suppress the urge to reach out and squeeze his arm. Instead, he softly said, “This is another thing we need to talk about. Why didn’t you tell me that until now? All the lies and the half-lies. That’s what started to bore holes into the boat that was Nelson & Murdock. You get that, right?”

Matt sounded despondent. “Yeah, Foggy, I get that.”

“But do you really? Because if we ever wanna go back to where we started, the lying needs to stop. It’s hard to trust you as it is, and I’m not sure how to get back to that.

“Cause, you know, every time I keep thinking about this, about how you kept this from me all those years... There you were, that gentle, smart, goofy man whom I went to college with, and shared my deepest, darkest secrets with, and then to find out that he isn’t who I thought he was… It hurt. Every time I look at you, it still fucking hurts.”

Matt’s voice was small. “I know. I was scared. I didn’t want to lose you.”

“But you did. Because you kept fucking lying.” Foggy paused a moment and tried to compose himself against all the emotions that were rising to the surface, before he added, “Not cool, Matt.”

“Yeah, looking back, I realize that. That’s, uh… It’s why I told Karen about Daredevil.”

“ _That_ was your way of making amends?”

“No, that was my way of doing something I should have done a long time before.”

“Which I kept telling you.”

“I know.”

“Why did you tell her?”

“It just... I don’t know, it felt like the right thing to do.”

“Do you regret telling her?”

Matt didn’t have to ponder that answer. “No.”

“Did you regret telling me?”

“I didn’t technically _tell_ you.”

“No, but you know what I mean.”

“I regret _how_ it happened. I hated what it did to us, those first few weeks. But the fact that the secret was out, it made a lot of things easier.”

“And now? How many people know? How did Fisk find out?”

Matt shook his head. “I didn’t tell anyone else. I don’t know how. I swear, Foggy.”

“He didn’t expose you, did he?”

“No, I don’t think so. Wouldn’t I know if he did?”

“Yeah,” Foggy nodded. “Probably.” He took another sip from his beer that was just a few degrees too warm now. “Are you still going out at night?”

Matt drew in a deep breath that prompted a cough. A gentle reminder of his recent physical ordeal. “I’ve been a little indisposed, as you know.”

“But you’d like to.” It wasn’t a question.

He shrugged noncommittally. “I probably will.” In a quieter voice, he added, “You know this.”

Foggy let out a resigned sigh through his nose. “Yeah. I guess I do. And I know I can’t stop you. Where is that suit of yours, anyway?”

“I left it somewhere for safekeeping.”

“Somewhere, or with some _one_?”

“It’s safe, Foggy.”

“The suit, maybe. But this could be your leak.”

“No,” Matt quickly shook his head. “No, my guy, he’s safe.”

“How do you know?”

“I just know.”

“Oh,” Foggy then said knowingly. “Your radar. Yeah, okay. Can I ask one thing, though?”

“Anything.”

“Just be careful, okay? And I don’t mean the _‘don’t punch people cause you might bruise your knuckles’_ kind. I mean more the _‘don’t do anything monumentally stupid that’ll get you-killed’_ kind.”

Matt smiled a small smile. “I’ll give it my best shot.”

“One more thing. Please don’t ever lie to me again. No matter what it is.”

Matt nodded almost imperceptibly. “There’s something I need from you, too. I need you to listen to me, try to understand my side of things. If you want us to move forward, I need to know that I have a certain level of support from you.”

Foggy knew that this was going to be the hard part. Probably the hardest. “Yeah, okay. I’ll, uh… God, Matt, you know that’s not going to be easy.”

“No one ever said this was going to be easy.”

“I know. It would be easier if I knew you weren’t gonna dive headlong into the next suicide mission because you think you have to do it all by yourself.”

“Believe it or not, but I think I’ve learned that lesson.”

“What lesson?”

“That I can’t do it all by myself.”

Foggy raised his eyebrows. “Wow. That’s new. But I like it. And I’ve been meaning to mention this to you. There’s a woman coming by our office sometimes by the name of Jessica Jones. She, uh… I think she may also have… you know… special powers. Maybe you two can team up.”

Matt seemed unimpressed, his expression slightly sheepish. “I, uhm… I already know her.”

“You do?”

“Yeah.”

“So she has special powers?”

Matt shrugged. “I don’t think that’s something I should be talking about.”

“And she’s helping you?”

“No, not exactly. Well, we’ve been known to… collaborate every now and then.”

“Heh,” was all Foggy could say.

And it seemed to be all that Matt was willing to share, because a silence ensued that was long enough to become awkward. Foggy was the one to break it. “Karen mentioned a job you took. Does it pay enough to afford this place?” He gestured at the room around them.

Matt shrugged. “Yeah, it’ll pay the bills.”

“Cause, you know, I can help out if you need me to.”

“No, Foggy, I don’t need—”

He interrupted him. “I know you don’t. But I’m offering anyway. Please don’t ever be too proud to ask me for help. Or money. You being homeless, I still can’t believe that actually happened.”

“Thanks, Foggy.”

He looked around, let his eyes graze over the cardboard boxes and the sparse furniture that wasn’t properly arranged yet. “Do you really have everything you need in here? I can ask around if someone has stuff to spare.”

“I have what I need.”

“Yeah, well, you living just above poverty level isn’t something I like witnessing. Tell you what, tomorrow we’ll go grocery shopping, fill up that shabby chic fridge of yours.”

Matt looked a little sheepish. “Uhm, Karen already took care of that.”

Bless her soul. Which made Foggy curious. “You two, are you… you know?”

“No,” Matt said quickly. “It’s not like that.”

“Can I ask why?”

“I think you know why.”

“Too much baggage, huh?”

“Yeah, something like that.”

“Well, I’m glad she’s around.”

“Yeah,” Matt easily agreed. “She’s been a Godsend.”

“And, you know…” Foggy harrumphed, “You? Have you been okay?”

“What do you mean? The pneumonia?”

“Yeah. I don’t know. Generally.”

“Well, it’s not exactly been a walk in the park. But I’m okay now.”

“And that’s not some bullshit _‘I’m totally fine but I’m really not’_ Matt Murdock response?”

That actually prompted Matt to chuckle. “No, Foggy, that’s not a ‘ _I’m totally fine but I’m really not’_ Matt Murdock response.”

Foggy let out a pretend-sigh. “Phew. And here I thought your default setting couldn’t be overwritten.”

They were both suddenly startled by loud noises from above them. A child crying, which quickly turned into wailing, then loud male and female voices whose verbal tirade they could actually clearly make out. Foggy frowned. “Wow, they sure didn’t understand the concept of sound proofing when they built this place. Did you know about this when you picked it out?”

Matt shrugged. “I suspected. But you know what they say…”

“ _‘Life sucks, and then you die…?’_ ”

Matt let out a little laugh. “I was more thinking along the lines of _‘beggars can’t be choosers’_.”

“That’s really gonna suck for you, though. We’ll find you something better.”

“We?”

“Yeah. I’ll help. There’s gotta be something better than this that you can afford, even if it’s not exactly a 6A.”

“6A was a huge stroke of luck.”

Foggy grinned. “Come on, your blind, wounded duck charm surely helped. I approve of you shamelessly exploiting it if it gets you a nicer place to live.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“I’m serious. Work those lovely brown peepers and your irresistible smile if you have to.”

“I got it, Foggy, stop already.”

“Are you gonna keep the beard?”

Matt self-consciously touched it. “I don’t know. You think it’s a good look on me?”

Foggy raised his eyebrows with a little shrug. “Takes a little getting used to, but, yeah, it actually kinda suits you. No pun intended. Speaking of which, not sure it’ll go with the mask.”

Matt suddenly looked self-conscious. “You’re right, it could be too noticeable.”

Foggy harrumphed, then gave himself a little push to get up from the sofa. “Come on, Murdock. There’s a shit-ton still to do around here.”

“It’s fine, Foggy. I can do the rest myself.”

“I’m not saying you can’t. No offense, but some of this stuff is easier if you have actual eyesight. I’m the best Braille-labeler there is, remember? Your clothes, your edibles… Don’t you dare suggest otherwise.”

Matt’s mouth turned into a grin. “Yes. No one else would put _‘disgusting brown sauce possibly Worcester’_ or _‘no idea - has Chinese label’_ on my things. Please don’t mark all my shirts _‘flashy pink’_ or _‘outrageous orange’_ again.”

“Would I ever?”

“You would, and you have.”

“Come on, that was in college, man. I’ve since grown into a respectable human being.”

“I’m not so sure about that.”

Foggy was already opening one of Matt’s cardboard boxes, uncovering a random assortment of kitchen items, Braille books and a table lamp. He looked around. “I may need some pointers where to start with all this.”

+-+-+-+-+

Things fell back into a routine after that weekend. Foggy went back to his life, and Matt and Karen to theirs, although they made an effort to keep in touch. It worked well enough for Foggy. Matt had declined more offers for help, and Foggy hadn’t pushed. He suspected that Karen was still doing her part to help Matt get back on his feet, so he wasn’t too worried.

It was Karen who also suggested they all meet at Josie’s after work three weeks later. Foggy hadn’t been back there ever since they closed out their tab. Too many memories, and compared to the places he was going with colleagues these days, Josie’s seemed ever more-so the dump it actually was.

Still, the mingle of smells that greeted him when he pushed the door open on a sludgy Tuesday evening was all too familiar, and not all that unpleasant if he admitted it. There was a certain taste of home here, of feeling welcome and—strangely enough—appreciated.

Matt and Karen were already by the pool table. Karen was pointing at a ball near the far right corner. “That’s the red solid over there. There’s a striped ball in front of it.”

Matt nodded, a sly half-smile on his face. He adjust the queue. “I’ve got it.”

Just as Matt was bending over the table and moving to shoot the cue ball, Foggy approached and poked him in the ribs from behind. The shot horribly misfired and actually sunk the cue ball. “Booyah!” Foggy exclaimed.

Matt shot him a mock-chiding expression. “Dammit, Foggy. I had this one.”

“Language, Murdock.” He walked over to Karen and gave her a quick peck on the cheek.

Karen laughed, then rubbed the spot he had touched. “You’re prickly. I’m not sure I like it.”

Matt turned his attention to Foggy. “Are you growing a beard?”

“Yep.”

“Why?”

Foggy shrugged. “Solidarity?”

“With me?”

“Yeah. Not cool?”

Matt chuckled. “It’s, uhm… mildly disconcerting. Growing that beard wasn’t a huge ordeal for me, you know?”

“Yeah, I know. How about I just wanna try something different.”

“You’re jealous. Of my facial scruff.”

“Jealous?” He let out a _pff_ sound. “I have sported a beard long before you, my friend.”

“Yeah, all through college. I remember vividly.”

“Don’t say you didn’t like it.”

“I couldn’t even see it.”

“Yeah, but you could,” he waved a hand in the air, “sense it, or whatever. I look good in a beard. Don’t you go and deny it.”

“You should let Karen be the judge of that.”

“There’s a thought. Karen, would you be referee for the unofficial Nelson & Murdock beard growing competition?”

She grinned. “Sure.”

Matt touched the front of his chin and rubbed it with two fingers. “I will need to shave it off soon, anyway.”

Foggy pulled a mock disappointed face. “Aw man, I was just getting attached to that thing in your face.”

Matt laughed. “That’s a first. You’re more than welcome to keep yours.”

“Yeah, like I’m gonna let _you_ dictate what I do with my facial hairs. Come on, let’s have some delicious alcohol.”

They finished their round of pool before they settled down at one of the tables in the back with their beer bottles. And now that Matt wasn’t engaged in a game that needed his concentration, Foggy could see he was fading fast. Sluggish movements, eyelids drooping, rings under his eyes.

He nudged Matt’s arm. “Hey man, are you okay?”

Matt startled as if he’d been just shy of falling asleep. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“I’m calling BS. You look like you’d fall asleep with your forehead on the tabletop this very minute if we let you.”

Matt rubbed one eye with his left hand. “Yeah, it’s, uh… I haven’t gotten a lot of sleep lately.”

Foggy’s worry meter immediately shot up. “Are you going back out?”

“No. It’s the neighbors. There’s always… something going on in that building.”

Translation: The neighbors are too fucking loud and obnoxious for me to get enough sleep. Foggy put his beer bottle on the table. It made a noticeable clank. “Okay, that does it. We’re gonna find you a new place.”

“No, Foggy, it’s—”

“If you’re gonna say ‘fine’, I will punch you. It’s not fine. You need to sleep, man. You’re staying with me tonight. And I will start an immediate apartment hunt with you. End of story.”

Matt looked resigned and too beat to argue. Foggy suspected that, deep down, he didn’t want to argue anyway, because Foggy was right.

Their night out ended after the current round of beers, and after they had put Karen in a cab, Foggy hailed their own. Any other night, they might have braved the nine city blocks on foot, but with Matt barely keeping upright, it didn’t seem like a viable option tonight.

When they entered Foggy’s apartment, he briefly wondered if Matt had actually ever been here. Definitely not in the last few months. Perhaps once, shortly after Foggy had moved in, but he didn’t exactly remember.

Foggy’s hand gently sought out the inside of Matt’s elbow to guide him into his humble abode, just to be safe. Matt’s senses got screwy when he was tired, Foggy had figured that out by now. He led Matt to one of the stools in front of the kitchenette counter.

“Let me park you here for a minute, I’ll be right back. In the meantime,” He waved at the apartment around him, “make yourself familiar with the place.”

Matt half-heartedly slid onto the barstool while Foggy made his way into the bedroom. He pulled some clothes out of his collection that, in a pinch, might fit Matt well enough not to fall off him right away. One was a pair of track pants, the other an old school t-shirt he hadn’t had the heart to throw out, and a Columbia sweatshirt from back in the day.

He cleared a few clothing items off of his bed he’d carelessly discarded there yesterday, giving the bed sheets a cursory inspection. They would do.

Back in the living area, Matt hadn’t budged, but he looked alert enough for Foggy to figure he was trying to mentally map out his apartment. Foggy ambled over and held out the stack of clothes to Matt. “Here, best impromptu pajamas I can offer.”

Matt accepted them without further ado. “Thanks, Foggy. Are you sure this is—”

“Yes,” he interrupted. “Stop asking and suck it up. Best, quietest night’s sleep you’ll get all week. Bathroom is over there,” Foggy pointed to a door to his right. “Towels are in the cupboard next to the sink. Take a shower if you like. Whatever you need.”

Matt mumbled, “Thanks,” as he made his way over to the bathroom.

Foggy couldn’t help but watch him warily. However, Matt seemed to have it covered, steering straight towards the door without bumping against any furniture or other items. Foggy was still impressed, then turned his attention towards the chores he’d put off until now. Breakfast dishes that needed to go in the dishwasher, the counter that needed wiping, dirty clothes to be put in the hamper.

He was still chasing a stray sock when Matt reemerged, Foggy’s clothes looking almost comically huge on his lean frame. Foggy quickly hid his involuntary grin. “I wish I could say it looks better on you than on me. Now get in here to get some sweet, quiet shut-eye.”

“In where? Your couch is over there, is it not?” He pointed at the sofa in the living room.

“Yeah, but there’s no way you’re not gonna sleep in a proper bed tonight.”

“Foggy, I can’t take your bed.”

“Oh, you can, and you will.”

Matt tried to argue, but eventually lost. There were still _some_ fights that Foggy was perfectly capable of winning, and some of Matt’s buttons would never change enough for Foggy not to know how to exploit them. In the end, Matt was looking equal parts uncomfortable and exhausted, curled up in Foggy’s queen size with the covers drawn up to his chin, still wearing both the t-shirt and the sweater.

“You got what you need?” Foggy asked.

“Yeah,” Matt said groggily. “I’m good.”

“Well, I hope you get some sleep.”

“Are you sure you don’t want—”

“Yes, I’m sure. Get some rest, Murdock.”

When Foggy looked back at Matt, he had his eyes closed, and may already have fallen asleep. He looked peaceful and vulnerable, like Foggy wanted to sit down on the edge of the mattress and stroke his stupidly disheveled hair. It was difficult to imagine this man made it a habit of beating up criminals in a horned mask at night.

He sighed and closed the bedroom door behind him as quietly as he could, getting to work on inflating the air mattress he’d bought when Candace had announced she was going to inspect his new digs, and by the way, was also staying for a week.

Once that was set up, he booted up his laptop and started scouring the internet for apartment leasing opportunities in the city. The thing was, he had no idea what Matt’s budget was. Everything in Manhattan was expensive, no matter where you looked. It had probably already been a feat finding the place he was in now.

After an hour of aimlessly clicking through craigslists and realtor websites, he figured he would have to do this together with Matt. With a sigh, he opened his online gaming account and picked the adventure game he’d started playing a while ago. It had proven to be a good distraction for all things _‘trying not to worry about your ex-best friend’_. It didn’t disappoint tonight, either.

+-+-+-+-+

The familiar wake-up melody from his cell phone woke Foggy the next morning. 6:30 on the dot. Hogarth didn’t like it when people got to the office later than 8, and the commute was always unpredictable in the winter.

Tugging a loose strand of hair behind his ear, he looked over the bedroom door, which was still shut, the apartment around him shrouded in silence. Foggy put on the socks from the day before and padded into the bathroom.

Half an hour later, with Foggy freshly showered and sipping a mug of coffee from the capsule coffee machine he’d treated himself to a while ago, Matt still hadn’t emerged. And that coffee machine was pretty damn loud.

The problem was that Foggy hadn’t had the foresight to grab work clothes from the wardrobe the night before, so he’d have to get into the bedroom. He hesitated with his hand on the door handle before he slowly opened the door.

The room was bathed in early morning light, grey and hazy. The heap of human beneath the covers, only a shock of brown peeking out at the top, didn’t move. Foggy raised his eyebrows. Wow. Matt was really out of it.

As quietly as he could, he picked a set of clothes from his wardrobe, casting a last look at Matt before he retreated back to the living room. Matt had shifted slightly, not quite awake, now snoring very softly into Foggy’s pillow. It put a gentle smile on Foggy’s face.

Once dressed and ready to head to work, he fished his phone from the coffee table and called Karen. He was reasonably sure she’d be up. She was the early bird among the three of them. It was confirmed when she greeted him in a chipper voice.

“Morning, Foggy.”

“I didn’t wake you, did I?”

“No, don’t worry.”

“Hey, uhm, I got a question… Matt’s still sleeping. That job he has, does he, you know, need to be somewhere at a specific time?”

“Oh, it’s all freelancing work. There’s no office I’m aware of.”

“He works from his shitty apartment?”

“Come on, it’s not that shitty,” she said defensively.

“It’s shitty enough that the noise is keeping him up all night. We need to find him something better.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not gonna argue with you there. If you have any ideas…”

“I’m already looking into it. So I guess I don’t need to wake him…?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Okay, cool. Well, I’m headed to work, so…”

“I’ll check on him later.”

He smiled. “Don’t be too obvious about it, though. He hates being mother-henned.”

She let out a chuckle. “Yeah, Foggy, I know.”

She would, wouldn’t she? It was easy to forget he didn’t have the monopoly over caring for Matt Murdock anymore. “Have a good day, Miss Page. Knock ‘em dead.”

“You too, Foggy.”

They both hung up with a quick ‘bye’, and Foggy wondered how he should be leaving Matt a message. He used to have a Braille slate and stylus, but he hadn’t used it since he moved to this place, and he couldn’t remember where he’d put it. Then he had an idea.

He picked up his cell phone again and started typing a text message that he sent to Matt. Then he went looking for a notepad, got his apartment keys, and pulled up the Braille alphabet on his smartphone to press dotted indentations into the notepad with the tip of one of the keys. In the end, it looked a little too crude and unshapely, but he was fairly sure it spelled out ‘check your phone’. He put the note on the edge of the counter, hoping that Matt would find it, once he got up.

+-+-+-+-+

Matt called Foggy after ten, making Foggy wonder if he’d slept that long. Foggy was in the middle of a client meeting, so he only got to listen to the voicemail a while later.

It was simple and to the point—Matt had received Foggy’s message, said thanks, and asked to be called back. Which Foggy did right away. Matt answered on the third ring. “Hey, Foggy.”

“Hey, Matt. Sleeping Beauty finally up and at ‘em?”

Matt chuckled. “Yeah. Thanks again. Though I wish you’d have woken me when you left.”

“Nah. You looked like you really needed the sleep. You can stay over again tonight if you want.”

“No, it’s fine.”

“Come on, we both know it’s not. That place you live in is one step up from a dump. We need to find you something better.”

Matt stayed silent at the other end, so Foggy plowed right on. “We gotta talk about your budget, though. What do you make on that freelancing job?”

“Foggy, you don’t have to do this.”

“Yeah, I know. But last night you slept, what? Ten hours? Twelve? That tells me enough. No discussion, all right?”

Matt sighed. “Well, it’s not like I took the very first place I could find. You know how difficult it is to afford something decent in the city.”

“I do, but I also have eyes and ears where you might not. In fact, there’s something I wanna follow up on. Give me a few days on that. Are you okay, though?”

“Me? Yeah.”

“You still at my place?”

“No, I went home. That freelancing job demands that I actually do some work in order to earn a living, you know?”

“Yeah, talking about which, there’s a paralegal waving a bunch of files at me through the glass door. I better go. I’ll be in touch when I know more.”

“Thanks, Foggy.”

+-+-+-+-+

It took three days for Foggy to follow up on what he had vaguely remembered. He invited Matt over that same evening, and it was strange that they were hanging out with cold beers in their hands on Foggy’s couch instead of Matt’s. The more things change...

“Okay,” Foggy said, waving his beer around, “so we have this client, all right? Rich, kinda glib real estate guy. One of the first cases they put me on when I started with HC&B. Some dispute over getting cheated by contractors—it’s not important. What _is_ important, though, is that I remembered I overheard something the guy discussed with one of the partners when he came in for a meeting.

“He owns a building just on the outskirts of the Kitchen, and he’s been complaining about how he can’t find any tenants because some investor started putting up an office building next to it and promptly went bankrupt right in the middle of construction. So now most of the apartments face a half-finished chunk of concrete that looks ugly as shit and will either never be finished or, creditors willing, years and years from now.

“I talked to the guy, because I figured maybe that was an opportunity, and I think we may be onto something here. He lowered the rent for all the apartments, and most of them have gone by now, but the top one is a hard nut to crack because all the windows face that construction fiasco, and apparently it’s even worse when you view it from the top.

“I went by there on the way here, and it looks pretty decent. For a blind tenant, I mean. What do you say?”

Matt raised his eyebrows. “What’s the address?”

“West 35th, near 10th.”

“That’s, uhm… Not the most pleasant corner of Hell’s Kitchen.”

“I know. But like _you_ care about drug dealers and other shady individuals in your front yard.”

Matt wisely decided not to comment on it. “And you’re sure this is within my budget?”

“I think the guy is pretty desperate. If we play our cards right, I’m sure we can work something out. Do you want me to set up an appointment?”

Matt looked slightly uncomfortable, but then said, “Yes, if you don’t mind.”

Foggy nodded. “Okay, cool. Consider it done.”

+-+-+-+-+

The apartment was… well, it sure wasn’t 6A. Matt was fake-tapping his way through it with his cane, while Foggy made it a point to look upwards at all the unpainted corners and exposed drywall.

He stepped closer to one of the living room windows and looked out. Sure enough, the sight of the building across the alley wasn’t anything to behold. A construction canker sore in the heart of Manhattan. It wasn’t a big surprise that no one wanted to rent the place.

He looked for Matt and found him in the bedroom. Foggy tried to gauge his reaction, but it was hard to read him. The realtor stood to the side, he was surprisingly uncommunicative. Probably because they were approximately the three-hundredth client he’d show through the place and then said, ‘No fucking way I’m gonna rent this place.’

Foggy sidled up to Matt. “Do we already have a verdict?”

Matt gave a slight shrug. “I like it.”

“Enough to rent it?”

Matt went over to the window and leaned closer so that his nose almost touched the window pane. “What do _you_ think?”

“Well, it’s… uh. It ain’t the five star suite, that’s for sure. I know you can’t see it, but there’s, like, exposed drywall in the living room, and it needs a coat of paint in, well, _all_ the rooms. The window lighting is terrible, not that you’d care. Some of the tiles in the bathroom are cracked, and there’s a spot in the corridor that looks like water is leaking through the roof.”

Matt raised his eyebrows and walked past Foggy into the corridor. He stood still for a moment, then angled his face towards the ceiling, pointing to the ugly, dark brown stain there. “You mean that?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s old. Dry now. I don’t see a problem.”

Foggy lowered his voice. “Can you, like, smell any mold or anything?”

Matt cocked his head and focused for another few seconds. “No mold.”

“Okay then, Mr. Supersenses. What else?”

“It’s nice and quiet. The walls are thick. That’s the part I really like.” Matt went to the realtor and asked, “The roof is right above the apartment, right?”

“Yes…” He sounded unsure where this was going.

“Is it accessible?”

“From inside the apartment? No. The main staircase will lead you to an access door, but it’s usually locked. Is that a problem?”

Matt quickly shook his head. “No, no problem.”

Foggy had to hide a grin. Yeah. Matt would find a way to get up there. The realtor shifted uneasily on his feet. “Is there anything else I can show you?”

Matt gripped the handle of his cane more firmly. “No, thank you. We’ll—”

Foggy quickly interrupted. “We’ll think about it and get back to you.”

Matt looked taken aback, but Foggy was afraid that Matt would say yes right off the bat. Foggy was sure that they could get the price down even further, and he’d damn well try.

The realtor’s face didn’t look any less sour than Foggy had expected. “Okay,” the man said. “Then I assume we’re done here?”

“Yes,” Foggy said decisively. “Thank you. We’ll be in touch.”

He took Matt’s arm and gently tugged at it to steer him to the door. Thankfully, Matt followed Foggy’s lead. When they were halfway down the staircase, Matt stopped Foggy short. “What was that?”

“That was me getting you a sweet deal, my friend. Feign disinterest, then beat down the price. Come on, Matt. No one’s gonna want to rent that dump. It’s an easy deal if there ever was one.”

Matt raised his eyebrows. “Dump?”

“Okay, maybe that’s not exactly the right word to describe it. 6A had charm. This place? It’s ugly, it’s dark, it needs a lot of work, and it’s… barely more than an eye-sore. The neighborhood is terrible. The place is seriously unrentable, unless your tenant is, well, a blind vigilante. I’m guessing you were about to take it, right?”

Matt narrowed his eyes. “Foggy, how long have you known me?”

“You _weren’t_ gonna take it?”

“I was, but it sounds like you were forgetting that I’m also still a lawyer.”

Foggy blushed slightly, not that Matt could see it. “I’m sorry. You looked like you were gonna say yes right off the bat. I just wanted to make sure we got you the best deal possible.”

“That’s appreciated, but—” Matt stopped mid-sentence, then cocked his head to one side. “We should go.”

“Drug dealers with guns on the prowl?”

“No, realtor approaching.”

“Ah.”

Outside, the early evening sun was just about to set, bathing Manhattan in an orange glow. They walked half a block before Foggy asked, “You know this neighborhood?”

“Yeah.”

Stupid question, Foggy realized. Matt knew all of the Kitchen like the back of his hand. “Any decent place nearby where we can get a coffee? Or a burger?”

“Uh… Yeah, there’s an Italian café close-by that actually makes great sandwiches. I stopped a number of armed robberies there before.”

“Of course you did.”

“Foggy, I’m kidding.”

“Not funny, dude.”

Matt gave him a trademark grin, and suddenly it felt like old times. “But I’m serious about the sandwiches.”

“Okay, Italian sandwiches it is.”

+-+-+-+-+

That night, Foggy and Matt talked about their plan, which ultimately bore fruit—not only because both Foggy and Matt were kickass lawyers, but also because, as Foggy had suspected, the property owner was pretty desperate to rent out the place.

Matt got the apartment at more than a decent price, and they even managed to negotiate more renovation being done on the interior.

It took three weeks until everything was ready for Matt to move in. Foggy had offered him to stay over whenever Matt wanted to get a decent night’s sleep, but Matt had graciously declined. Foggy didn’t want to press the issue.

Moving day went smoothly, with both Karen and Foggy helping out. They were all dripping sweat despite chilly temperatures outside, carrying furniture and boxes up and down stairs. Foggy was happy to see the volume of Matt’s belongings hadn’t drastically increased since the last time they had done this.

By the time the last piece of furniture—a rattan armchair—was set down in the living room, Foggy plopped down on it with an exhausted groan. “I’m not moving another muscle for at least the next twenty minutes.”

Matt gave a light chuckle and proceeded to shift some of the boxes around. Karen was puttering around in the kitchen, sorting dishes into cupboards by the sound of it. Matt turned to Foggy. “I’d offer you a beer, but that would necessitate a trip to the store first.”

“Cheapskate.”

Karen appeared in the doorway. “I’m starving. Let’s order in. My treat.”

“Pizza,” Foggy said immediately.

“Thai?” Matt offered.

“Only if there’s saké.”

Karen grinned. “I’m sure that can be arranged.” She handed Foggy a leaflet from a Thai place that wasn’t far away. “As it so happens, I found this in the box I just unpacked.”

Foggy was already leafing through it. “Perfect.”

It didn’t take long for them to pick the dishes. The food arrived within half an hour, and they ended up perched around Matt’s small square table on the two chairs and a make-shift stool. Between bites, Karen smiled and said, “You know, guys, I’ve missed this.”

Foggy grinned at her. “What—moving Matt into a new apartment?”

She gave him a friendly kick in the shin under the table. “Come on, admit it. It kinda feels like old times. Remember? Broke clients and homemade lasagna. Those were the days.”

Foggy took a sip from his drink. “Although I must say that quite prefer my current paycheck over that at N&M.”

“Don’t you miss the old office?” Karen asked. “Just a little bit?”

Truth was, some days he did more than he’d care to admit. All he committed to was, “A little. Sometimes.”

Matt angled his face in Foggy’s direction. “Are you happy working with Hogarth?”

“Yeah. It’s different, obviously.”

“Interesting cases?”

“Not all of them. Well, truth be told, most of them are pretty routine. But it’s good. The more exciting stuff makes up for it. Hate the dress code.”

Matt frowned. “Why?”

“Apparently ties with dragonflies don’t,” he drew quotation marks in the air, “ _align with the company standard_. I’m thinking about switching to bowties.”

Karen laughed out loud. “That, I want to see.”

“Trust me, you don’t,” Matt interjected.

Foggy gave a snort. “How would _you_ know?”

“I just know, okay?”

“Don’t listen to him, Karen.”

But Karen was right, Foggy thought. Them joking around at a small table with good food and cheap alcohol—it felt familiar. It felt good. He _had_ missed this. Foggy couldn’t help but steal a few glances at Matt, and he realized that he seemed happy. Happier than he’d seen him in a long time.

They’d been so wrapped up in their complications that they’d forgotten how to be friends, how to appreciate each other. Maybe even how to enjoy each other’s company. Matt was taking a sip from his glass of wine, a wide smile spreading across his face at something Karen said, and suddenly he looked like the innocent, dedicated, slightly nerdy law student Foggy had met almost ten years ago.

Where had all those years gone? And where had it gone wrong that Matt didn’t think he could be fully honest with Foggy? How could they make up for all that lost time?

Matt turned to face his friend as if he’d sensed what was going through Foggy’s mind. “Foggy?”

He harrumphed. “Yeah?”

“You’re awfully quiet.”

“I’m just… Never mind.”

Matt’s expression was suddenly serious, all attention focused on Foggy. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong. I was just having a moment. You know, law school, days of innocence, and all that.”

Matt’s brow furrowed, but Karen let out a faux exasperated sigh. “Please, not the law school stories again.”

Foggy followed suit, pushing all melancholy from his mind. “See, the lady has spoken. No one wants to hear the law school stories.”

More easy banter followed, but somehow the spell had been broken. Matt’s smiles didn’t seem quite so bright anymore, and Foggy silently cursed himself for having ruined it. They still had quite a way to go, him and Matt.

+-+-+-+-+

Life went on, and so did Matt and Foggy’s converging friendship. Matt made his new apartment into a home, they kept in touch, they met up every now and then—sometimes with Karen, sometimes without her. Matt graduated from occasional freelance lawyer to sought-after consultant with a night job on the side.

Foggy still couldn’t say he fully condoned Matt’s vigilantism, but he truly tried to accept that side of his friend’s life. And the day he realized that he was getting there was when he found his arms hesitantly wrapped around a client’s back who was silently sobbing into his chest—and Foggy couldn’t help but think, ‘Okay, maybe I need to consult with Daredevil on this.’

The woman’s story wasn’t anything new. Super creepy stalker boyfriend with not only a relentlessly stubborn streak, but also a relentlessly unrepentant tenacity. They had tried to press charges, filed restraining orders, the works. The guy always found new, disturbing ways to weasel his way back into the woman’s life and keep harassing her. That day, Foggy’s soft voice and warm smile had broken down the last of her restraint, and Foggy’s lapels ended up soaking up the tears.

The truth was, Foggy was getting to the point where the law was reaching its boundaries. Something had to be done to help this poor, tortured soul, and Foggy knew just the person.

That same night, he found himself on Matt’s couch, a bottle of German beer in his hands, his friend planted across from him in one of the armchairs. Foggy took another sip of the cold drink before he said, “Okay, so… hypothetically… if I had a favor to ask of Daredevil, do you think he would be willing to help?”

A sly grin flitted across Matt’s mouth. “Hypothetically… I think it would depend on what the favor was, but, yeah, he might be open to that. You know, if you asked him…”

“Well, there’s this client of ours, and I think she needs the Daredevil kind of help.” The story was quickly told, and Matt’s expression was grim and determined by the time Foggy finished. He studied Matt for another short moment, then added, “I wouldn’t be asking if I thought there was a legal way to teach that asshole his lesson.”

Foggy didn’t have to say anything else, because Matt told him right away, “Consider it done.”

Foggy nodded. “Okay, cool. Thanks, man.”

“I’d say, ‘my pleasure,’ but…”

“Except it is.” It didn’t sound malicious or accusatory. It was how Matt operated, and maybe Foggy had come to understand that by now.

+-+-+-+-+

The next evening, well past one a.m., there was a knock on Foggy’s bedroom window. Matt had texted him a few hours before and asked him whether Foggy wanted an update after the fact. Of course he’d said yes.

Foggy was sliding open the window ten seconds later, and a lightly panting Matt clambered inside from the fire escape—mask and suit and all. Foggy had yet to get used to the fact that his best friend was inside that thing.

“I didn’t wake you, did I?” Matt asked, his voice raspy, pulling the mask off his head as Foggy closed the window.

“No, I was— holy fuck! What the hell happened to you?”

Matt’s gloved fingers came up to his face but stopped short at the last minute. “Yeah, there was, uh, a little complication.”

“Complication??” Foggy echoed.

The lower half of Matt’s face was bright red, ugly yellowish blisters blossoming along his right jawline. “How bad is it?” Matt asked.

“Pretty bad. Dude. What the hell happened?”

Matt shrugged, pulling off his gloves. “The guy had some kind of spray. Mace, maybe?”

“Dude, this looks way worse than mace. Tear gas, or some shit. Did it get you anywhere else?”

“No, just the face,” Matt said and staggered slightly on the way to the living room.

“Whoa.” Foggy was by his side, grabbing him by one arm to steady him. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah. But it’s, ah… kinda messing with my senses.”

“No shit. Come on, let’s get that shit off of you.”

Foggy guided Matt to the couch and went to the bathroom to gather what he needed to clean Matt’s face and apply antiseptic ointment to the worst of it. While Foggy tended to Matt’s skin, Matt recited the beginnings of his night—how he had taught the stalker a lesson he hopefully wouldn’t forget so soon.

“Spare me the gory details,” Foggy had said, and Matt did.

A maybe too self-satisfied grin was lingering on Matt’s face when he finished. “He won’t be harassing your client again if I can help it. Let me know if he’s any more trouble, okay?”

“Yeah,” Foggy said, “Sure thing. Thanks, buddy. I really appreciate it.”

“Any time, Foggy. Glad I could help. With, you know… my _other_ skillset.”

“I kinda hope I won’t need to commission it again, so don’t get used to it, Murdock.”

Matt sobered a little. “Thanks for asking, though.”

Foggy nodded, desperate to change the subject. “Man, you really look terrible. Maybe you should see a doctor for this tomorrow. It might scar, or something.”

“It’s fine, Foggy.”

“It looks like it hurts like hell.”

Matt shrugged. “I’ve had worse.”

“Yeah. Concussions and abdominal tears several inches wide. I vividly remember. Ugh. Let’s not mention this again, shall we?”

“You got any beer?”

“Now? It’s going on two a.m.”

“I, uh… I kinda need to—” Matt waved one hand in the air, “wind down a little.”

“Heh. Well, there’s beer in the fridge. Do you, uhm… want company or something?”

Matt let out a noncommittal grunt that Foggy could probably interpret one way or the other. He suspected Matt was stalling for time—his way of saying he needed another minute to muster the energy to go back out and find his way home along New York’s back alleys and rooftops. A beer for the guy was the least Foggy could do.

Matt popped the lid when Foggy handed him the bottle, taking a long draft. Foggy was unsure what to do. His night was gonna end at 6:30, no matter what. Awkward silence ensued for a long, few moments, before Foggy said, “So this is what you do, you know, after? Clean your bloodied fists and sip beer until you doze off?”

Matt shrugged. “Sometimes.”

“Man, that’s seriously messed up.”

“It’s not always like this. Most nights, I don’t even need to get my hands dirty—figuratively speaking.”

Foggy shook his head incredulously. “I still don’t know how you do it. Going out every night. When do you actually sleep?”

“When I can,” was Matt’s evasive answer.

“Meaning way too little,” Foggy elaborated.

“Probably.”

“You know that doesn’t exactly help alleviate my worries, right?”

“Yes, but you also said no more lies.”

That was true, Foggy had to concede. Matt shifted in his seat. “Do you want me to leave?”

“No. I mean… Yeah, eventually I’d like to get some sleep. You can crash on the couch if you want.”

“I appreciate the offer, but how do you expect me to get home like this in broad daylight?” He gestured at his Daredevil suit.

“Point taken. Although there’s always those old, ratty sweatpants and the Columbia sweater in my bottom drawer.”

Matt took another sip from his beer. “Thanks, but I’m good. I’ll be out of your hair in a few minutes.”

“No, seriously, I’d hate for you to go out again like this.”

“Like what? This?” he pointed at his jaw. “That’s nothing. It barely hurts.”

“Please not with the misguided heroism again. That shit doesn’t work on my anymore, remember? But, you know, Matt. It’s fine. It’s not like I can stop you, right?”

“Foggy...”

Foggy drew in a breath and gave his best to keep the resentment from his voice. “It’s cool, I didn’t mean to sound upset or anything. Support, right? That’s what you asked for. Here, this is me being supportive. And tired.” The yawn he couldn’t quite stifle made itself known.

Matt gave a quick nod and got up, picking up the cowl and his gloves, placing the almost empty beer bottle on Foggy’s kitchen counter. “Thanks for the beer. And, you know... the rest. I really appreciate it.”

Foggy slowly followed, hovering maybe a little too close. “Are you sure I can trust you to get home safely?”

“I’m fine.”

“Yeah, that’s what you always say when you’re actually anything _but_ fine. Still,” he said, raising his arms in mock-defense, “I’m willing to give you the benefit of the doubt if you promise you’re not just saying that and then end up tumbling off of the next roof edge because, you know, false modesty.”

Matt chuckled, already on the way to bedroom window with the fire escape. “Okay, maybe I’m not a hundred percent fine, but fine enough to make it home without tumbling off of roof edges.”

“Text me when you get home, okay?”

“Are you my mother now?” Matt put on the cowl and slid open the window.

“I can be. You know, in spirit.”

Slipping out onto the ladder, Matt said over his shoulder, “Good night, Foggy.”

Foggy leaned out the window and watched Matt almost noiselessly climbing his way up to the roof. Freakin’ Matt and his split personality. He didn’t think he could ever get used to it.

+-+-+-+-+

That same Saturday, Foggy was startled by a knock on his door. He shot a glance at his watch. Shit.

Standing in front of his apartment door was Matt, dressed casually in blue jeans and a dark blue polo shirt, a hint of a smile on his face. “Hey, Foggy.”

“Hey,” Foggy said, rushing back to the living room to clear away some of the paperwork that was strewn all over the couch and the coffee table. “Sorry, I kinda lost track of time.”

“Doing what?”

“Working. In fact,” he sighed, “I should be finishing this.”

Matt went over to where Foggy had sat down again, protesting, “You’re going back to work?”

“Yeah. I have tons of stuff to do.”

“Does it really have to be now?”

“Yeah, the deposition is on Monday. I’m really sorry, Matt.” Then Foggy suddenly remembered why Matt was starting to nag. “Aw geez. Shit. Today’s the day, right?”

He had expected for Matt to be more melancholy, but Matt was all cheer and chipper. “Yep, and you wanted to come with, remember?”

“Actually... I don’t think I can. Not when there’s still so much still to do for the case.”

Foggy could see Matt’s face fall, although he tried to quickly conceal it. “Okay, that’s disappointing. But, seriously, Foggy, taking a break will do wonders for your concentration.”

He sighed, putting away the stack of papers he was holding. “All right. Before you bring out more of the irrefutable Murdock logic, I shall yield to your superior knowledge.”

Five minutes later, they were walking down the stairs, an unfamiliar spring to Matt’s step. Foggy was still majorly confused by this behavior. “Geez, man, what is _up_ with you today?”

“Come on,” Matt said without stopping, the bottom tip of his cane bouncing against the steps. “There’s so much more to life than being cooped up in your apartment all weekend.” He opened the door to the street, a rush of sound filtering in. “It’s _New York_. The greatest city on earth. It deserves to be seen!”

Foggy was already out of breath, but Matt just kept walking, crossing streets, ignoring traffic. Foggy stopped on the curb, ready to complain. “We could be taking a cab, you know? Quintessential ‘New York Experience’ and all.”

“Hush, let’s go over there.”

“Why?”

“Farmer’s market. They have apricots.”

And sure as eggs, they did. Before Foggy could even say anything, Matt was filling a paper bag with fruits from the display in front of the store. He turned to Foggy and held something purple right in his face. “Try a plum.”

Foggy took it and took a bite. It tasted sweet and juicy.

“It’s good, right?” Matt added. “And the best thing is, think about how much more nutritious it is than that bag of microwave popcorn you were going to eat instead.”

Foggy frowned. “Are you going to keep this new happy voice on all the time now? Because it’s so not you, and I really didn’t expect it today, of all days.”

But Matt didn’t seem to be listening. Instead he was leaning over a tray of strawberries. “Do you realize that every single strawberry on this table smells just a little different?”

Foggy took him by the upper arm and turned him so that Matt was facing him. “Dude, are you on acid, or something? This really isn’t like you.”

Matt just smiled benevolently. “No, Foggy, I’m having a good day. Am I not allowed good days?”

“You are, but you missed the fact that I was trying to bring up a serious subject.”

“No, I ignored it. There’s a difference.”

Matt paid for the fruit and all but thrust the bag into Foggy’s unsuspecting arms, and then he was off again, already by the stairs to the subway. Foggy rushed to follow. “Matt, Jesus Christ, wait up!”

This new version of Matt, it was truly baffling. They stopped to listen to a violin player down by the tracks, a pleased smile on Matt’s face, even all the way to their destination, when Foggy knew Matt wasn’t especially fond of riding the subway in the first place.

When they got back to street level, Matt kept telling Foggy about all the sensory input he was getting—a set of open loading doors in the sidewalk with traffic cones around it, a girl on a bike who uses tea tree shampoo, a window shopper with a smoker’s cough.

Foggy was still completely confused. “Why are you telling me all this?”

“Ever since, you’ve always been curious about how I see things, haven’t you? I’m showing you now.”

“Yes, but this seems very out of the blue. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were in the middle of a bipolar manic episode. Which is especially mystifying when you consider that today is your father’s birthday.”

“Speaking of which...” Matt stopped and opened the gate to the cemetery they were standing in front of. “Almost there.”

Foggy had never been here, so he had no choice but to follow Matt along the gravel paths until Matt came to a halt in front of a plain granite gravestone. It bore the name Jack Murdock with the day of his birth and his death beneath it.

“Can I?” Matt asked Foggy, pointing at the paper bag with the fruit. Foggy held it out to him, and Matt took an apple from it that he placed in front of the gravestone.

“Happy Birthday, Dad. Brought your favorite,” he said, gripping the handle of his cane with both hands in front of him.

Foggy stayed silent, not sure what to say. It took a long, few moments before Matt said, “Sometimes, in my dreams... just sometimes... I can see.”

“What do you see?” Foggy asked hesitantly.

Matt took another moment, then answered, “That I want to live.”

“And what does _that_ mean?” Foggy inquired softly.

“It means that after everything that happened, the past few months, they’ve taught me that I can’t do it all alone. Not if I want to live and to stay sane, if I want the people in my life that are important to me. So I’m going with a new outlook on life.

“You can say that I’m in denial, you can decide that I’m not dealing with it, but this is me, Foggy. This is how I want to be. Or at least try.”

When Foggy didn’t answer, Matt prompted him, “Please say something.”

“I’m not sure _what_ to say. This is more than slightly weird. I think I liked you better when you were all guilt-ridden and broody.”

“And half-dead in the corner of a subway hallway?”

Foggy wasn’t sure if the comment was meant to be jovial. “No! I’d much rather have five manic Murdocks than that.”

Matt chuckled. “Okay, in that case there’s only one to deal with for now, and he wants to celebrate this day with high proof liquor in a seedy bar somewhere with his best friend in the world.”

“Whoa, too much, too soon.” Foggy said jokingly, but secretly enjoyed hearing Matt say it.

Best friends.

Those words hadn’t been used in a long time between the two of them. It was high time that it got reinstated. And with any luck, it would be before they knew it.

Foggy lightly patted Matt’s arm. “Whenever you’re ready, pal.”

+-+-+-+-+


End file.
